The Undefined
by jaycee778
Summary: Series of beckdam oneshots.
1. The Undefined

Darkness.

He sees nothing, though his eyes are strained. Squinting further, no sound, and then-

He hears it: the rustling of the curtain, feet on hollow wooden floors.

Lights.

It's white and hot and he has to cover his eyes; turn away.

Shadows overtake him, growing bigger, taking human form.

"Why are you here."

It's not a question, but rather an accusation. Her words cut through him.

He tries not to feel the sting, the malice behind an inherently flexible statement.

He decides to open his eyes, to face the girl who hides in the light.

"You know why.

I'm here for the same reason as you."

His words would seem trite to most, but she can feel their weight.

She nearly flinches, unable to bear the sheer bluntness of his response, but holds steady.

"Then tell me:

Why am I here?"

She can't understand her own words, her actions;

Why she continues to play this game, dancing around forward conversations meant to be obscure and giving meaningful glances intended to hold nothing.

He takes out a sheet of paper and walks onto the stage.

She doesn't move, her breathing is silent. She watches him. He begins to write.

_Dig deeper_

Two words weighing down on her turbulent mind. They anchor her thoughts.

She looks at him, unsure. His eyes catch hers and they hold.

She breaks away first. He smiles.

"It's more than skin-deep:

It's bigger than that; deeper.

We aren't so shallow."

He says this with modest confidence. He's thought this through.

He has his answer as she continues to squander for her question.

She says nothing.

"You aren't looking hard enough."

Her head snaps as she looks for his eyes.

He knows. **He knows.**

"I don't-"

She begins, but he stops her; taps the paper and hands her the pencil.

"Two words."

His voice is hushed. She strains to hear him,

then scrawls quickly on the paper, panicked and anxious.

_Utter confusion_

He reads it and shakes his head.

"You can't just write the words;

You have to feel it inside you,

Breathe life into it,

Give it meaning."

She only feels more confused.

Frustration builds, exploding across her face, but she stays silent.

He puts his hand on hers and meets her eyes.

There's a moment, then.

A moment of still air; silence.

A moment where time stops and her thoughts stand still.

And she knows if she doesn't take advantage of this,

She'll never know how to answer the undefined.

She writes:

_Fall harder_


	2. She

So, I'm writing this as sort of a reflection on what's happening right now – on what I can't believe is happening. It's funny, because when I was in 10th grade my two best friends were the writers. I was sort of the odd man out, in more ways than one. But that's not what this is about.

This is about happiness; it's about love and loss, kisses and bruises, reality and the cracks in between. And let's face it, we all fall through sometimes. It's in those moments, so obscure and abstract and subtle – that's the key word here, _subtle_ – that maybe we only imagined them; maybe we're only seeing what we want to see.

I hope that's not what's going on here. I pray to God for it.

What's the difference between God and Fate, anyway? I wonder if either exists – or maybe both. What about religion and spirituality? Are there rules to how we should be playing this game? Well, maybe I sound cliché, or maybe this is the most original idea you've heard all week, but if God looks in my favor, I don't think I'd mind it too much if he was watching over me tonight.

I've had so much pain in my life. Maybe it's a gift in disguise. Or maybe I'm cursed. I find that hard to believe, but that's what she's been saying.

Yes. _She._

It's that girl again. She keeps invading my mind. She's in every thought, every emotion, every breath – she's melded into my very core; enveloped my entire being. Every inch of me drips with her, every tear belongs to her, every smile is devoted to her.

You'd think I would have learned by now. Love and Adam do not mix. We're like sodium and water – incompatible, unstable, explosive. One of my teachers says me and her mix well. Like oil and vinegar. But that can't be right.

Can it?

Those words have stuck with me, just like every word she says is embedded in my memory, locked away into a secret place. I hang on to every letter. Does she notice? Does she care? Does she requite?

I know I should stop this before it goes too far – I can't go back to the dark place again. But once it gets going, my mind won't rest until her very existence has been worn out – or mine. If I were to utter her name in this instance, for example, I'm positive I would dream of her tonight, like I have every night before. She's like a virus, a drug – but she's better than that: more pure, more beautiful.

Am I insane? She's a firm believer in the Word of the Lord – when it suits her, as I've noticed. Can I change her opinion of me? Can I move past this barrier? Do I even want to?

Well that was a stupid question, of course I want to. But it's not a matter of want, now is it. Because according to God, I've been damned to hell for all eternity, so why should I be even a blip on her radar? Why should she ever think of me as something more than a misguided soul in need of saving?

She called me a girl. She said it; I watched the words form on her lips, heard the air leave her throat in vibrations of sound. They echoed inside my head, and brought the pleasant company of painful nostalgia. Emphasis on painful.

So why, then, do I continue to pursue her? Why can my mind not rest when I see her, hear her, think about her?

Well maybe I am insane. Thinking of her makes me smile, makes my mind flood with a warmth I haven't known in a long time.

So I'm going to do it. I'm going to drown in her being; sink into her tone, her voice. I'm going to hang off of every word, every letter, every sound of happiness or sorrow. I'll pursue her. An immoveable decision – no, a statement; a declaration.

I will pursue her.

That girl, whose mere utterance of her name could drive me mad with insanity.

Becky.


	3. Pieces

"I love you," she breathed, her hair disheveled, her chest heaving.

He hadn't heard from her in months, hadn't seen her in weeks. And yet here she was, doubled over and out of breath right in front of him; saying what he had most wanted hear since she asked him to be hers.

Her eyes held his, unwavering despite his shocked expression.

"Do you hear me, Adam Torres? I love you."

His eyes dropped. "No you don't," he whispered.

"Yes I do!" Her voice was strained, desperate. She had to make him understand.

"I know you care about me, Becky. I can hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes, feel it screaming from your entire body, begging me to listen."

She swooned. Even in such a dark, negative place, his mind was so creative, so poetic. Even when his heart was so broken, so empty, it was full of passion and art. She loved that about him. She loved everything about him. Even more than his body, she wanted his soul. She wanted him to finally be hers.

"Then why won't you." More than a question, it was a plead for attention; one she already knew the answer to.

"Because I know where your mind is, and I know where your heart is. And Becky, those are two very different places." His eyes were cold. They held no hope.

"I'm with you. All of me is with you."

He sighed and reached out, entwining his fingers with hers. They fit perfectly, but he still only looked sad.

"You know, I've had a lot of time to think. At first, all I could think about was trying to get you back. I thought of all these crazy plans, all these things I could say to make you want me back, want to be with me instead of your family." He laughed slightly. "How horrible does that sound – 'want to be with me _instead _of your family'. I'm awful." He frowned and squeezed her hand tightly. "Have you ever heard of this thing called 'cognitive dissonance'?"

"No," she answered quietly, shaking her head.

He stayed silent, staring at their interlocking fingers for a long while. Becky's mind was loud and obnoxious in the meantime, running a thousand miles a minute.

He finally spoke.

"Cognitive dissonance is when you believe something with all your heart, when you have this set attitude about it. But then you act another way entirely. It's that horrible, guilty feeling in the pit of your stomach when you've done something you consider 'wrong'."

And again, he fell silent. She waited patiently for him to go on, to explain why this was relevant to their conversation, but he didn't. He only sat there, staring at their hands, occasionally gripping hers tight then letting back up on the pressure.

"…So?" She finally asked. His eyes lifted to meet hers.

"You really don't get it, do you."

"Should I?"

He sighed again. "What do you do when that happens to you? Do you just sit there feeling awful?"

Becky shrugged, not really sure what he was talking about. "I suppose…not?"

He clenched his teeth. "That's right, no. You don't just sit back; you try to change something – either your attitude, or your actions. One of them has to go."

She still had no idea how this applied to them, their situation. "But Adam –"

"Don't say my name," he breathed sharply, closing his eyes in pain. Becky's eyes softened, hurt but sympathetic.

"But...what does this have to do with us?"

"Don't you see?" Becky shook her head. "It was when we met in school. You were trying to sabotage the play because of your beliefs – your attitude. But then, then you met me. And you changed your actions; you even tried to save the play you thought was so wrong."

"But no, that was because –" Becky tried to intervene, choking on her words.

"You said it yourself. I confused you, I led you astray. It was because you liked me, I know. You liked me, who was part of the play you were trying to destroy. Cognitive dissonance – something had to change. So you changed your actions. You helped us. But your beliefs were still intact; you still believed it was wrong. It was a no-win situation for you, and far be it from me to change your beliefs entirely.

"When you told me you were going to get therapy, Becky, you broke my heart into a million pieces, and it wasn't because I loved you. I liked you – I still like you – but there was more to it than that. You gave me hope. You made me think people could change, that the entire world could turn their thinking around to accept everyone. And when you said those things, when you left me, that hope vanished along with your feelings."

Becky stared into Adam's eyes, watching his heart break all over again.

"...So you're really never going to believe me, are you. You don't believe me when I say I love you, Adam Torres. Because I love you with all of my heart."

Adam stayed silent, avoiding her eyes. Becky held back the tears, untangling her fingers from his and dropping her hand. "I love you so much. So if this is what you want – nothing to do with me – then that's what you'll get. I'll give it to you. Goodbye, Adam."

She turned away, her eyes shining as she lifted her wrist to wipe away the wetness. Then she walked. She walked away from the boy she loved. And as she went, when she was almost out of Adam's sight, he took everything in him, all of his emotions – the anger, the sadness, the guilt – and he shot it back out at her with every ounce of his being.

"Becky Baker, you broke everything!"


End file.
